


Stolen Car

by sorchafyre



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2011-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorchafyre/pseuds/sorchafyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duke Devlin finds himself bored and irritated in a dead, dark hour of the morning, so he goes for a joyride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Car

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for language. Duke Devlin, as presented in Takahashi's manga, would grow up to be very different from the version presented in the anime, here is my slice of moment illustrating that. First published 31-July-07

Acknowledgements and Disclaimers: I do not own the character of Duke Devlin, all rights belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and Shonen Jump (probably). Story inspired by the song "Stolen Car (Take Me Dancing)" by Sting. From the first moment of the song I saw Duke slinking down a rain-slicked street, the very direct inspiration for this piece.

Three in the morning was the ugliest time of day, and Duke Devlin avoided it whenever he could. Tonight, having misjudged the man he'd left the bar with and being ushered out the door after sex, Duke found himself moving through the desolate hour with an edgy, unfulfilled energy. At least it had stopped raining, although the scent of it wrapped around the tang of still-warm pavement and an overripe Dumpster at the mouth of the alley Duke had just passed. _Rot and cement_ , Duke thought wearily, _that just about sums it all up._

He slunk down the sidewalk with unconscious grace, showman even in the absence of audience. That was what he _was_ , and sometimes Duke wondered if he even had a core of self anymore or if it had vanished beneath all the different people he'd been, layer after layer of ego weight compressing anything resembling an original into a soundless, unremarked implosion.

Had he ever even had a chance at an ego to call his own?

Thoughts impossible to keep at bay was what Duke hated most about this bleak, forsaken hour so he looked around the slick streets for a distraction. It arrived in the shape of a dark green Jaguar, sitting by the curb with lean elegance to match Duke's own. He crossed the street, admiring the obvious expense, appreciating the stylish class of the vehicle, drawn to its side by his own unformed longing.

At the driver's door, Duke hesitated nearly a full minute. It had been years since he'd used the more illicit skills learned in his youth and there was no good reason to take the car. Then he remembered the hand in the small of his back as his _companion du nuit_ prodded him to the door with insincere apologies and promises to call another time.

 _Fuck it._

It wasn't that hard to remember, and Duke had the door open and the alarm deactivated before the sound could wake any light-sleeping residents on the brickstone lined street. "Here we go, baby," Duke whispered, flicking on the lights and pulling smoothly away from the curb, broken ignition dangling by his knee.

It felt good driving through nearly-deserted streets, felt like power, and Duke's shoulders squared as his spine straightened. He could feel this personality closing around him as it happened, and grinned into the feeling, a feral delight settling in his gut. He was strong, powerful, in control of himself and the world around him. He had money, had taste, and anyone who thought differently was insignificant.

Yellow traffic light and he slid smoothly to a stop, more than glad of that decision as he belatedly saw the police car waiting at the intersection. As the driver glanced at him, Duke flashed him a weary smile; a man returning from a late night, having fallen asleep in his office, he just wanted to get home and he saw the cop buy it as the light turned green for the waiting car. Watching the tail lights of the police unit fade in the distance, Duke's smile once again turned feral, wild adrenaline surging through his blood like the sweetest drug on earth. This ride wasn't about speed or image, it was about ability, about finesse, about being what he _could_ be.

 _What I could be_ , Duke repeated as the rain-slicked pavement threw green reflections at him until he started moving again. _And that would be what?_

 _Anything you want._

But he didn't want anything, or to emphasize it properly, _he_ didn't want anything. He'd stopped wanting things a long time ago, when it had become obvious that there was no point to it.

Suddenly weary bitterness caught up with Duke, and all the fun went out of his stealthy excursion. Smoothly, and did this car do anything less than smoothy?, he pulled over to the curb. He'd bet next month's rent that it had a tracking system, so the owner would only be out the cost of repairing an ignition.

Duke would probably appreciate the irony in the fact that he slid smoothly out of the car, if he had noticed. He didn't, because it was just the way he moved, what he did, who he _was._

As he collapsed in his own bed, the red LED lights on the clock morphed from 3:59 to 4:00 and Duke glared at it before rolling onto his back, pulling the covers over his nude body. Tomorrow he was _definitely_ missing three in the morning.

But a small smile lingered on his lips as he slid into weary sleep, and into a dream of dark green power.


End file.
